


On the Subject of Falling

by NevillesGran



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: M/M, Multi, Near Death Experiences, about as shippy as you can get without actually being shippy probably, implied ot3, psychopomps are my jam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6235180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevillesGran/pseuds/NevillesGran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, neither Tarvek's cynical mind nor the malicious universe would give him a near-death hallucination or the gates of some afterlife with Gil in his <em>current<em> state. </em></em></p><p> </p><p>  <em></em><br/><em>(Inspired by the page on 3/11/16)</em><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Subject of Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [By the Hand of My Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050438) by [ConstanceComment](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstanceComment/pseuds/ConstanceComment). 



> You'll notice explicit, somewhat extended references to both scenes of my fic "Sleepover", as well as (with permission) ConstanceComments' amazing "By the Hand of a Friend" (the falling nightmare.) Because, you see, I don't actually have _infinite_ sad headcanons about these boys.

_Once upon a time, there was a prince…_

.

Tarvek crawled through the airshafts. Or was it a secret passage? Squares and rectangles; stones or metal panels beneath his hands and knees. It was entirely dark (there were whispers in the dark, chittering insects and knives that came without a sound.) He could feel nothing but the passage beneath his hands and knees, and closing in on the sides, accompanied by perfect blackness.

“Come on!” a new voice called quietly from ahead, and he knew the others behind as well but this one was better. Gil, in the Castle Wulfenbach airshafts at night, with a faint miasma of light around his head from an opening ahead.

Another voice whispered that this was wrong, that they weren’t young anymore. It sounded like Tarvek’s own, or maybe his father. He bit his tongue to keep it in place and kept crawling.

.

_Once upon a time, there was a prince, who went flying…_

.

Castle Wulfenbach was everything Tarvek expected, and nothing like it at all. He’d seen it looming but somehow it was still impossible that there was an entire city inside, rooms and rooms and _rooms_ and rooms and rooms. Stairs and ladders and some of it wasn’t even finished yet; he saw jagged edges and unbuilt beams as they walked him to the school. Everything he’d known before had been built for centuries; old, cold stone and never quite full enough to crowd out the ghosts. Here, people rushed and the floor hummed beneath his feet with the eternal rumble of the engines. They made the metal ever so slightly warm, in a way he could tell would be comfortable to walk on.

The people were all the same, though; all smiling fake smiles and saying the right words to be liked and respected. He was surprised by the way everything was new and shining and crowded, but he wasn’t surprised by that. Smiles and words were how life worked, especially for people of a Certain Class. That was the Game. And those below…well, they lived, too.

.

_Once upon a time, there were two–_

No. Not yet.

_Once upon a time there was a prince and an orphan boy…_

.

It was two weeks before Tarvek brought Gil Holzfäller a bowl of stew. One week to get his bearings, figure out the lay and law of the no-longer-land; a second to watch from behind his own smiling and jockeying until he knew what everyone else was thinking behind theirs. Gil Holzfäller didn’t smile or even talk much—understandable, when he was barely a piece, much less a player. But he was good at disappearing, and nobody else—including Holzfäller—seemed to realize that was a valuable talent. And Tarvek was good enough at disappearing himself to follow when Holzfäller ran away from lunch again, crying, and he brought an extra bowl of stew to make up the loss of the cafeteria.

Of course Holzfäller was suspicious, but Tarvek was an expert. He didn’t say a word, just left the stew on the girder and sat with his own bowl a little away, hooking one arm around a stray hanging wire for extra balance he didn’t need.

“I know somewhere better to eat,” Holzfäller said suddenly, after a few minutes—except it wasn’t suddenly, not really; Tarvek had been listening for the sniffling to stop.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The orphan was on his feet in a moment, stew in hand, balancing as well as a smoke knight despite the cuffs on his pants that should have tripped him. Not the same form, of course, but the same ease.

“Come on,” he said, though his eyes were still red and his voice shook a little. He offered Tarvek a spare hand.

.

_Once upon a time, there was a prince and an orphan boy (so far as they knew)…_

.

“Come on,” Gil repeated, standing on the ledge at the end of the passageway. Tarvek adjusted his clunky, square glasses. Everything was still dark—the light was far, far ahead—but there was enough for him to make out the maze of girders at their feet. It was an unfinished ceiling, or floor, or wall (gravity _felt_ like it was down, but in the darkness it was hard to tell.)

“Where are we going anyway?” he asked, eying the girders nervously. They were few and far apart, and it was late at night—dark and empty, and he was tired.

Gil grinned, teeth catching the dim glimmer of light. “We’re going to jump off the Castle!”

“ _What?_ ” Tarvek’s voice was high, young and scared.

“Don’t worry,” said Gil, and took his hand. It was a little smaller than Tarvek’s, wiry but seemingly undernourished, just like the rest of Gil.

“We used to do things like that all the time,” Gil assured him. “Remember?”

.

_Once upon a time, there was a prince and an orphan boy (so far as they knew), and they went flying…_

.

“I change my mind,” Tarvek said flatly. “This is insane.”

“Come oooonn,” Gil cajoled, already strapped into his glider harness. “It’ll be fun!”

“It’ll be _awful_ ,” said Tarvek, not for the first time that afternoon. Not for the first time that week, or that month. He was already strapped into his emergency glider as well (both gliders were supposed to be back at the school, and both boys as well, but never mind that.) But where Gil was crouched on the edge of the maintenance platform, arms spread under the wings as naturally as if they were his own, Tarvek was pressed up against the wall by the light fixture this platform was in place to attend to. He was probably breaking the glider wings with the pressure. Yeah. That was a good reason not to go. Also that he’d die _anyway_. He’d hit the floor and it would hurt and it would be _so_ embarrassing.

Gil uncrouched just enough to stare back at him with exasperation. “You said that like twenty times already.”

“Because I’m right.”

“Because you’re a scaredy-rat.” He dropped his ready stance entirely and came back to tug Tarvek forward. “Why are you scared of falling but not of jumping?”

“What?”

“You know, like rafters. You jump between things almost as good as me.”

Tarvek jumped between rafters _better_ than Gil; he just pretended to windmill his arms to hide it. Usually. But something made him hesitate, and really try to answer (he wouldn’t have told that truth anyway.)

“I think…it’s having something jump _towards_ ,” he explained, and refused to look down at the docking bay spreading beneath them. “And land on, and it’s right there. So you _aren’t_ falling.”

“This isn’t either,” Gil argued. “It’s-”

“You _just_ said it was falling.”

Gil pushed him gently - sideways, thank lightning; not towards the edge. “Shut up. It’s gliding. It’s like flying, except- except we’re going to land! Over there!” And he pointed to a door all the way across the bay, which was indeed their goal - not least because it was a handy escape route. They wouldn’t get in trouble if nobody could _catch_ them.

Tarvek crossed his arms. “It’s not a good idea. Or- or we should try some other time, when it’s not busy.”

Gil’s eyes glinted with mischief. “If you can’t jump, I could push you.”

Tarvek was half a meter back and poised to ward off attack before he finished taking a full breath. “ _No_.”

“Okay, geez,” said Gil, hands peaceably in the air. Movements slow and gentle, he tugged Tarvek’s arms out of ready-to-strike and into ready-to-fly, pressed against the glider wings. “But they’ll be done fixing the lights tomorrow, so we have to go now.” He towed Tarvek back to the edge of the platform, grinning. “Trust me, it’ll be _fun!_ ”

.

_Once upon a time…_

.

It was so dark, warm and humming but pitch, pitch black, save the pale, slender strand reaching towards them from the light ahead. A glimmer of a path. But murmurs and knives still echoed around them. Tarvek nearly fell once, twice, and only landed on the beams because Gil pulled him to safety in time. And Gil slipped too, more than once, and Tarvek yanked him back to steady footing.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Tarvek grumbled. He was getting tired. They shouldn’t be up so late. Madame Von Pinn would be cross. (No, it was Otilia–)

Gil’s eyes glittered in the faint, faint light in the darkness, and they weren’t quite reassuring. “You’ll be fine.”

“We don’t even have gliders!”

“You don’t need one.”

They made another jump, still hand in hand. Neither fell.

“Why do you keep saying ‘you’?” Tarvek demanded crossly.

“Oh…” Gil shuffled his feet on the thin metal rafter, and wouldn’t look at Tarvek. “You’re the only one jumping.”

Tarvek pulled his hand away. He had to windmill for balance to even out the momentum. “ _What?_ ”

Gil frowned, sober. “You’ve got to wake up.”

.

_Once upon a time…_

.

“Tarvek.”

Tarvek was drowning, in cold stone. He choked and there was masonry dust, pounded down by years and years of royal footsteps. Whole slabs solidified in his chest.

“Tarvek, you’ve got to wake up.”

Other stones pressed down on him, on his legs and arms and chest and neck. He could feel the bruises forming, purple and blue against cold grey and pale unbroken. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t shy away from whatever might be swimming in the stones—slimy, crawling, skittering. Something brushed his ankle. Old and poisonous, always.

“ _Wake up_.” Something clamped around his arm, teeth like knives. He pulled back, opening his mouth to scream even if it only let the stones in faster.

He didn’t mean to open his eyes at he same time, but the shout was already dying in his throat, seized back by reflexes and lessons stronger even than dreams. A Smoke Knight never made a noise they didn’t intend. That was how you got caught. That was how you showed where you were weak.

Gil’s hand was still on his arm, his eyes wide and concerned in the dark. Tarvek, quiet unconsciously, had a makeshift dagger (a sharpened screwdriver from a half-finished lab) a few centimeters from his throat.

“You were having a nightmare,” said Gil, not pulling away. Not saying ‘again.’

Tarvek drew a shaky breath and lowered the dagger. “Yeah.” He should stop letting Gil sleep in his room, really; he woke up every time Tarvek had a bad dream. It was—it was embarrassing. Weakness, vulnerability, caught. (It was a little nice to be woken up.) “Sorry.”

.

_Once upon a time..._

.

Tarvek stared at him. It was starting to get lighter, even though they’d stopped moving. “I’m not asleep.” But he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.

Gil shook his head, flyaway hair giving the impression that he was shaking it much harder. “You’re not…” It was agreement, but with a caveat.

“I’m _not_ ,” Tarvek insisted. He pointed towards the light—daylight, he realized, from an open bay door, in the same huge room they once flew across on stolen (“borrowed!”) gliders. Timbres of madness started to slip into his voice. “ _That’s_ the nightmare. I can’t go back. You can’t _make_ me!”

Rising hysteria in his throat, bubbling out his mouth and eyes and ears all high and scared. _Control yourself, young master_ , a voice whispered—a nurse, or a knight.

But the murmurs behind him were real as well, and they were starting to solidify into the sounds of busy people—unafraid people, rushing about and jockeying for position and flying at the center of something bright and warm and new.

“No,” Gil admitted, biting his lip. “I can’t.”

.

“Once upon a time, there was a mighty king-”

Gil groaned. “Not another stupid Storm King story.”

Tarvek rode over him ruthlessly. “Once upon a time, there was a mighty king called the Storm King, and he had nine beautiful-”

“You must know other stories, right? Heterodyne Boys? Adventures? Even the dumb ones with animals and ‘morals’ would be better than-”

“Shut up! I’m telling the story, and you’re the one who’s going to sleep!”

Gil stuck his tongue out at Tarvek and smacked him gently in the side with a pillow, and Tarvek considered it a great success. The goal wasn’t really to sleep. The goal was to not think about bad dreams anymore.

Though Gil didn’t really get nightmares, not properly. He didn’t have a family. He got, so far as Tarvek could tell, the reverse: dreams where he could almost, almost remember where he’d come from. When he woke up and there were no big arms to hold him or kind voices to sing strange songs, he didn’t want to talk about it the same way Tarvek never explained more than a little of his own nightmares.

Well, sort of the same way.

“Once upon a time,” he began again, imperiously, petting Andy who was between them on the bed. The midmoth, who’d snorted in drowsy objection to being grazed by Gil’s pillow jab, snuffled with contentment and closed his eyes again. “There was a mighty king called the Storm King. He had nine beautiful clanks called the Muses, built for him by his friend the most powerful spark ever, Master Van Rijn. And all together, they had adventures…”

.

Gil towed him forward, or maybe Castle Wulfenbach itself moved around them. Tarvek did his best to pull back, but the most he could do was skid against the warm metal floor. His extra height and weight didn’t do a thing.

“It’s not a nightmare,” Gil insisted as he ran, ran like their lived depended on it. Like Otilia (Madame Von Pinn) was on their heels. “It’s…”

They came to a ship in the bay, odd and spindly, insectoid, with wings instead of a gasbag. Gil hesitated.

“I’m not getting in that,” Tarvek said reflexively.

Gil rolled his eyes. “I know, I know.” He pulled Tarvek around the back, still racing, still going towards the opening in the side where pale light was streaming in. It wasn’t sun or even cloud; more like the very beginning of dawn on what would be a clear, cold day.

“It’s a fairy tale,” Gil continued, looking back at Tarvek with eyes wide and bright and pleading. “You never shut up about fairy tales. Why don’t you like this one?”

“It’s not a fairy tale.” Tarvek remained adamant, towed.

“Yes it is. There’s the Storm King, the Heterodyne Girl…”

They were almost at the open door. “The Storm King died. The next one’s horrible.” He couldn’t fault the Heterodyne Girl. “And where’s Van Rijn?”

“I dunno.” Gil finally stopped pulling him to the edge, because they were there. Clouds swung by their feet, and beneath that, Europa. The sky was turning from deep purple to blue, and in the distance white and gold where the sun shone lily-pale. Gil looked out for a moment, then turned and smirked at him. “Do you want to pillow fight for it?”

Tarvek stamped his foot, ignoring how much it made him seem like a child with a temper tantrum. Or depending on it. “No! I don’t!”

.

_Once upon a time, there were two young princes…_

.

Tarvek wasn’t afraid of falling, when he lived on Castle Wulfenbach. Or before. He wasn’t. He was much more afraid of getting caught, and it wasn’t his fault that the two inevitably went hand in hand, because if you fell it meant you had made a mistake and you weren’t in control and you were going to be seen, or heard, and get in trouble.

It wasn’t until afterwards that he started to fear the fall itself. Or maybe even then it wasn’t the falling—the rush of air, the lack of handholds, the pressing proximity of the ground. It was what he was falling from that began to haunt his dreams. Dreams where the Baron said, “I will not have spies in my school,” and instead of Tarvek having a day and a half to gape and stammer and try not to cry, the floor opened right at his feet and Sturmhalten just barely glittered in the snow below, most of the lamps dimmed to save energy in the long, cold winter night. And he’d scramble back, but he was never fast enough—his feet slipped on the already icy metal.

He’d grab at it with both hands, just barely holding on, but wind buffeted from below and somehow from above, the Baron’s sheer force of presence like a gale. That wasn’t right. _Tarvek_ was supposed to be the Storm King.

Then Gil was there, kneeling above him, eyes wide and hair blowing every which way. Offering a hand. “Come on!” he shouted.

Maybe it was because one of his arms was already swinging free, or not free—tugged back down to earth by a thin, dripping chain of blood. He’s cut it on the sharp edge of the floor. Or maybe his fingers were simply too numb to keep a grip if they weren’t together. Or maybe it was just the logic of dreams: Tarvek knew he could only hold on to one thing, the ship or Gil’s hand.

He remembered Gil betraying him, telling the Baron in a flat voice with an unreadable expression that he should look behind the light fixture in Tarvek’s bedroom. It had only been a couple minutes ago, every time.

He took Gil’s hand. It was warm. Gil gripped back, with the start of a smile.

Then he let go, and Tarvek watched him disappear into the dark sky as he fell back to earth.

.

_Once…_

.

Castle Wulfenbach was lighting up as the sun rose. Electric lights started to flicker on across the docking bay, coming forward. Voices and footsteps and bustle rose. Of course, ordinarily it would have been busy all twenty-four hours, but this was perhaps a brief reprise. Now it was coming to an end. If they didn’t move soon, they would be caught.

“I’m so _tired_.” Tarvek swayed on the verge of the new day. They were too high for wind but still he swayed, away from where the floor dropped away to Europa spread like a map of jewels. Sturmhalten, Versailles, the old shattered Castle Wulfenbach…and Mechanicsburg. He could feel a tug, there, but he leaned away.

He ran a hand through his hair, tangled down to his shoulders, and looked down at Gil. “Can’t we just be caught, this once? Madame Von Pinn won’t really kill us. We could go back to bed, and school, and—and jump tomorrow, if you still want to.”

“Otilia,” Gil reminded him patiently. “And there’s _Agatha_.”

“Yeah…” Tarvek stared down at Mechanicsburg again. It was like a towline to his breastbone, not blood but fire. He couldn’t say whether it was Agatha or his own life pulling him back. He wasn’t sure there was a difference, or if he cared.

He turned back to Gil, and the growing lights and comfortable warmth of Castle Wulfenbach. “But I’ll lose this.”

“I’m down there, too.”

“Are you?” he asked doubtfully. And plaintive again, and scared. That kept happening.

Gil rolled his eyes, and nudged Tarvek in the ribs (sideways.) “Do I have to push you?”

Tarvek stepped away. “It’ll hurt.”

“ _Tarvek_.” Gil caught his arm again, stopped it from swinging back and forth. “We can’t do this tomorrow. Not _this_.”

Gil could always do serious, even when he was eight, with hair that flew away even without wind and hand-me-down clothes that ran over the ends of his hands and feet. It was _intent_. It was the dark eyes with the beginnings of a dangerous glint, even then, in the pale, skinny face. It was the way he put his whole self into it, like there was no such _thing_ as falling too far.

“You’ll just have to trust me,” he said.

 _That’s the hard part_. The words leapt to Tarvek’s lips from a nightmare, or maybe a fairy tale. He was always good at knowing the right words.

“That’s the problem,” he admitted instead, and pulled his arm away. Turned back to the cold dawning day, and closed his eyes because it was easier to not see that he didn’t know where to land. “I don’t think I ever stopped.”

And he closed his eyes and he jumped, and he fell.

And sweet _lightning_ it hurt.


End file.
